holdmesamthatwasbeautiful:

Two brothers fall in love in the backseat of a car.

They love each other, and it’s not pretty. It’s not
sweet; they don’t giggle beneath blankets and they don’t kiss softly when the
day bleeds into night.

They love, achingly and possessively; jealousy roars
like fire between them silently and Dean feels something slide out of place
when he realizes that he wants to kill a sweet brown eyed girl for the way she
bats her eyelashes at his little brother.

They grow up, and they try to fall out of love,
because they’re drowning. The intensity scares them. Sam leaves, and Dean doesn’t
breathe for four years. Everything is easy, because he doesn’t have to care.
Hunting is so simple: if he lives, he lives. If he dies, he dies.

He never falls out of love. When he feels Sam’s scent
again, it almost knocks him to his knees. They surrender to each other like two
tired soldiers on the battlefield; mouths melting together as hands find new
scars on familiar skin, and they tell each other all the soft, dangerous truths
they have tried to put to rest.

It’s a tired, heavy kind of love. It aches and it
wears Dean down, it’s not the light-headed rush of speeding hearts and happiness.
Their love is a merciless monster baring its fangs; Dean’s bane, and the threat of losing Sam haunts Dean every night.

They fuck the same way they love: desperately and
violently, tongues over bloodied knuckles, clawing love notes into bare skin.
Bruises blossoms between them, dark and ugly, like everything else in their lives.

He ain’t
heavy, he’s my brother.

It’s a lie, because he is so very heavy: he is the whole
world and he has galaxies in his eyes, and Dean will carry him until the end of
time.

In the end, like in the beginning, it’s just him, him,
him.

Dean carries on.